


The Agents

by GodAmongstMen



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Military, Possessive Behavior, Soulmates, Special Air Service, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodAmongstMen/pseuds/GodAmongstMen
Summary: AU. They say in order to ascertain military might, one must count planes and ships. Men and technologies. Fools. The truth of the matter is, true might comes from Agents and their actions. Alas, the loyalty of an Agent is to their Mate first and place of birth second. It is not often when the two coincide. Fortunately for the United States, this was the case with Ms Sarah Walker.
Relationships: Chuck Bartowski/Sarah Walker





	The Agents

Jim sighed.

It had been a long and tiring day, and yet the day was still not over. Not even close to ending, judging by the work that was still piling up. Reports were needed to be written, imagery looked over, and briefings read.

Jim looked at the watch at his desk, a gift given to him by an old colleague of his that had since retired. The watch read _19:17._

Jim sighed again.

He took the watch into his hands, his fingers tracing the words that were humorously engraved on the clock. "Who Dares Wins".

It had been a running joke, of simpler times, when the average Imagery Analyst had more to do with special operations than ORBAT and weaponry musterings. 

These days, the all encompassing reach that was purview of the Intelligence Community ensured that the work was never finished. There was always something critical that was needed to be done as soon as possible, and for which an operation, a routine flight or Central Command's intelligence briefing depended on.

But this was the life of a Senior Analyst at the NGA, Jim mused to himself, neverending. Not that the recent budget cuts were of any help.

Hell, the NSA got an upgrade with a workable voice-to-text algorithm that was doing them wonders, and what did they get? The same old program that needed a facelift since the 90's.

Stupid SigINT taking all the glory and leaving them penniless.

It was downright aggravating when he knew that every operation, barring none, needed the talents of the NGA.

From the navigation of a U.S Navy ship to the planning of a SAC operation, they all needed visual intelligence by some form or another.

While usually, somewhere along the line of the procedural planning of any operation, an Imagery Analyst would scrutinize its details, doing his job to further the reach of the U.S. Armed Forces. 

Touching the watch, he couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic for days that have long since passed, when he had been a wide-eyed colt who did not know his left from right.

It was amusing for him to think, that what he had at first considered a temporary job, enough for him to make his way through college, had fast become his life's work and the sole thought of his everyday existence.

Not even his wife garnered such attention from him these days, he bitterly admitted.

And yet he could not but feel helpless to the outcome. A grim sort of acceptance. The notion was intensified when one paused and acknowledged the hallowed beauty that was all that pertained to National Security.

He was not ignorant of the fact that he was dealing with human lives, civilian or otherwise, if in a roundabout way, and that American lives, his fellow brethern, were at stake.

Since his days at college, his work had been his place of solace. The place he felt the most accomplishment, be it in the aftermath of a successful operation or the triumph of publishing a well written research project.

His work had gradually changed over time, to better suit contemporary needs and circumstances. These days, it mainly consisted of ORBAT tracking and minimal VisINT research, with reports needed to be written on a number of high priority sites viewed every day.

A barely-managing-by doctrine that had been implemented due to the recent budget cuts and loss of precious manpower.

Occasionally, he would get a critical project issued to him by OoA contacts, and as his department's senior staff member, he'd be asked his thoughts on the concerning matter.

As the department's senior member, he had the highest level of clearance, and was routinely exposed to projects that only he was allowed to view. 

There were a few benefits to experience, after all.

For the past few weeks, he had been working on a project issued by a contact of his at the CIA, an unusual fellow who went by the codename "Black Castle", and who had requested his expertise on a troubling matter.

Recent chatter, provided by the NSA, has alerted the Intelligence Community of an Iranian desire to back proxy groups located in the Middle-East with improvised SAMs, fabricated from Active-Homing AA Missiles.

The more troubling parameter, and the one few in the Intelligence Community were aware of, was the recent accord struck between Russia and Iran, and which was an upheaval of what was expected of Russia by the Intelligence Community. In the CIA's analysts eyes, Russia was supposed to exhibit animosity towards Iran due to the conflicting interests both parties had in regards to the rehabilitation of war torn Syria. 

Jim was told that a highly confidential resource had even suggested the accord was just the beginning, and that it was highly likely a new alliance was brewing between the, until recently, distant countries. 

Iran's plan to arm its proxy groups with improvised SAMs, backed by Russian expertise and power, was putting the United States in a somewhat awkward position of being helpless to intervene openly in an occurence it was explicitly aware of and that would greatly inhibit its future actions and planning.

Jim's own reasoning led to the conclusion the State Department would soon get involved, or possibly an unidentified paramilitary group, which would ensure Iran's plans would not come to fruition. 

Nevertheless, the easy access Iran had to formidable AAMs, such as the R-77, and the integrity of the idea, had a few heads in the Air Force sweating.

Research using state-of-the-art simulations even confirmed, the improvised SAMs posed a significant threat to UAVs and non-combat aircraft, provided they worked closely with an Early Warning Radar array. Fortunately, the research showed, the fabricated SAMs posed a negligible threat to fighter jets and did not negate U.S air superiority explicitly in the region.

For his part, Jim was tasked with alerting on any changes he saw in AAM laboratories in Air Bases throughout the Middle East, specifically in Syria, Iraq and Iran. The more knowledge they achieved, in regards to the project, the more leeway they had.

He was just doing so, going over the imagery at the late hour, when he heard the ping of an email arriving to his computer.

Frustrated with stopping mid work, he still opened the email, aware of the semi-legends told of mishaps that had occured due to some blithering idiot leaving his mail unopened and unread.

And boy, was he happy he did, for the email was timestamped, with a countdown of fifteen minutes proclaiming the deletion of said email.

This was the first time he had received such a time critical mission, without any forewarning, and he found himself exhilarated at the prospect of what it entailed.

He quickly went over the email, affronted at the amount of redacted content, although excited at the possible identity of the sender.

_This was the stuff of legends._

The mail requested his help, indicating a few images, timestamped, attached to the email. "For your eyes only".

This was unexpected, as usually he was just referenced to a specific image and he would open it on his own.

A little shocked at the emergency, and the lengths the sender had gone through to erase any identifying properties of the images, he quickly went over them, scanning with the eyes of an expert any irregularity that his eyes could detect.

The images were of a single compound, with time intervals of a week between each image, four in number, with the most recent timestamped barely a few minutes ago.

Located in the midst of a sweeping desolate desert, the compound, a veritable fortress, was behemoth in size, sprawling over 15 acres of land.

 _Self sufficient,_ Jim thought, eyeing the solar farm and water facility that were part of the compound.

Noticing the guard towers, high fences and military vehicles parked around, his first instinct was to name the compound a military base, or possibly a jail.

But seeing the well kept status of the site, the greenery and the swimming pools, the lavish houses and beautiful fountains, he could not help but think there was more to this place.

Much more.

Doing as the email requested, he compared the image taken a week prior to the current one, going over any differences he could see that were relevant.

_That car changed places, this pool was drained._

_There._

_This was not here a week ago._

Comparing the other images of previous dates, he grew surer in his conclusion.

This anomaly was what the sender of the email was probably searching for.

Granted, the size of the Star could be due to the creator's size, and kids were usually not the recipients of such attention from the Intelligence Community.

But the, almost, secretive location the drawing was created upon, and the use of a temporary conduct had him quite certain of his conclusion.

After all, who drew a Star of David, using what was most probably mud, on the side of their roof, in what was most assuredly not a Jewish community?

At least he did not think this was Israel, as the terrain did not remind of any place there, but yet he could not be sure. The program which handled meta details of images suddenly wasn't very forthcoming, which was very unusual for it.

Satisfied with his thinking, he sent the sender his conclusions with explanations as to his mode of thought, aware that he was likely dealing with some hotshot personnel, and that the usual "That's what I think," would not do.

He but barely made it in time, for as the countdown of the email ended, his whole hard drive rebooted, and any evidence he had of the interaction was completely wiped out, erasing everything but his memories.

Feeling a little miffed at first at the total blackout of a communication on the part of the sender, he grew joyous when he saw that, as his computer rebooted, his desktop screen had been changed to a new image, a WordArt conveying thanks.

Feeling a little euphoric at a job well done, he settled back into his work, worrying again over the possibility of an American plane being shot down.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping this one sticks.


End file.
